


One-Shots

by Aeregele



Category: Dayhift at Freddy's, Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: DSAF - Freeform, Gen, One-Shots, michael is bigender and commonly wears women's clothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-01-11 01:43:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18420251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeregele/pseuds/Aeregele
Summary: A series of one-shots and stories that I work on in my spare time that don't really mean too much. Feel free to suggest some stuff to write!





	1. 1 - INDEX

An index of chapters _may_ include the chapter number, name, summary, relationships, and extra stuff if I need to add anything else.

* * *

  **1 - INDEX**  
You're here!!

 **2 - Everyone was wrong - No Relationships - dsaf**  
“Then you’re just some twisted god. An immortal creature that can’t grasp reality. An undying being that can’t stand on the planes of humanity and answer a couple of prayers for the life of him. You can change everything. You can change the course of life! But you choose not to because you’re in some infinite loop of everything-exists-slash-everything-doesn’t-exist!"  
Jack doesn't really know what he's talking about. But the bullshit the other man was spewing was starting to get on his nerves.

 **3 - Stop Lying - William & Michael**  
The poor kid just needed a family member that he could trust and all he did was ruin it.


	2. Everyone Was Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then you’re just some twisted god. An immortal creature that can’t grasp reality. An undying being that can’t stand on the planes of humanity and answer a couple of prayers for the life of him. You can change everything. You can change the course of life! But you choose not to because you’re in some infinite loop of everything-exists-slash-everything-doesn’t-exist!”
> 
> Jack doesn't really know what he's talking about. But the bullshit the other man was spewing was starting to get on his nerves.

Jack, Old Sport, Orange Man — whatever his name is at this point (honestly, he couldn’t remember anymore). He plopped down onto his bed. He hadn’t noticed how exhausted he was until his mind drifted off and he found himself standing in a new place.

He’s never seen this place before. The sky was clear —clearer than he was used to — and the grass was green and bright with lovely flowers surrounding him and making a path across the empty field. As he looked around, he noticed dense forests surrounded him for miles on either side of him. Staring at the dense foliage, despite being so far away, gave him chills that slowly dripped down his spine like honey.

He looked back at the flowery path in front of him. Watching these flowers and grasses sway to the light breeze filled him with a deep and unrelenting dread.

This place was beautiful, of course, but something about it was off. The trees in the distance screamed at him to run. The flowers called him to lie down and play dead. But the soft breeze wouldn’t let him move.

He was frozen. Frozen in fear.

This place is like a beautiful painting. But a painting where the more you look at it, the more mistakes you notice. The more you stare the scarier it gets. That one issue with a piece that you can’t put a pin on.

He closed his eyes, balling his hands into fists. He wasn’t going to succumb to whatever this hell was. He wasn’t going to run. He wasn’t going to lie down in fear. He will not scream for help, no matter how much this beautiful scape yelled at him to do it.

He opened his eyes, nearly falling back when he found himself atop the edge of a cliff. In front of him was nothing. The sky descended into pitch black clouds below him. Those clouds whispered to him. Trying to manipulate him.

He looked behind him. The trail of flowers from before now disappearing into a dense black fog.

It was creeping closer.

He turned around, ignoring the fog. _It was just a dream, right? He wouldn’t die, right?_

_He was already dead, so what did it matter?_

Even if it was a dream, though… something was still off. This felt real. This felt like he was alive. Like he was standing on real ground, breathing real air, seeing real things.

As he looked in front of him he nearly jumped back. A man was in front of him with his back turned to him. He was large, larger than Jack, with strawberry blonde hair and sickly-pale skin. Something was wrong with him. He almost couldn’t pin it. His mind didn’t even register the inky blackness on his right side, dripping down his body and pooling at his right foot. The black substance coated the grass and flowers, dripping down the cliff’s edge. The flowers wilted, shriveling in despair.

“You made it,” He said, his voice deep and low, a rumbling reverberating through his chest like rolling thunder.

Jack couldn’t pin where that voice came from. His body could only muster the urge to scream.

“Still in shock,” the man said. “Interesting. Most people who find their consciousness here fall into shock. Then fall into the void. Their minds scream at them. Their body acting on their own. They walk off the edge, falling to their ends. Falling forever. I still hear their minds screaming, screaming to keep going — keep falling”

Jack was finally able to speak, his chest releasing his voice as he screamed, “Who the hell are you? Where am I?”

The man turned his head slightly at his voice, but the smaller one still couldn’t see his face. His blonde hair almost wasn’t affected by the wind as he spoke. “You don’t remember me.” It was something someone would ask, but he sounded like he was observing. “The brain represses the bad memories.”

“I…”

“You are Jack Kennedy, are you not?” He asked but didn’t give jack time to answer. “You are. You’re here for your soul? Or are you here for revenge?”

“Revenge…?” The smaller man repeated, mind still spinning, still screaming. He still couldn’t move on his own, it was almost like this guy’s presence froze his body.

“You don’t have a soul,” the older man said, the deep rumbling in his voice shook Jack to the core. “You died by my hands a long time ago, your soul escaping in an attempt to free itself from the hell it was meant to fall into. It was meant to come here, just like the others. Just like I had. But now you return — soulless. Is that what you seek? Your soul? Or death upon the one who took it from you?”

He still didn’t look at him, it was starting to piss him off. He didn’t even answer his questions!

“Answer mine and I will tell you,” the man said, his tone like a thousand blades slicing the air.

“I don’t know,” Jack said, his voice small and weak compared to the other man. He doesn't mean to sound like that. He sounded like a pathetic child being scolded by their parents. “I just woke up here.”

The man quickly pivoted in his position, staring at him with a wild silver eye. An eye like that could see a lie for miles. It could see prey across the world. It could see the future of humanity. He swore he saw an eye like that before.

“Leave,” the man said, surprising Jack. “You do not belong here.”

“Where am I then?!” Jack shouted, louder than he did before. “I don’t even know where the fuck I am!”

It became hot. Scorching hot. Jack barely had a second to think before his legs were forced to collapse beneath him, a sudden weight pulling him down.

“You are between the gates of heaven and hell,” the man said. “Or that’s what people say.” Two shoes stepped into his vision — one of them covered in pitch blackness — but his head was so heavy that he couldn’t look up at the man above him. His voice rumbled more, louder than before. “There is no heaven. There is no hell. No gate. No passing. No line. No death.”

_What the hell was he onto?_

The weight felt like it lifted. The air became colder. And Jack could finally look up.

It was him. The man Dave spoke about. The man that killed him and his family. The blackness creeping from the right side of his face, covering his other silver eye. It looked like it had a mind of its own. “Life doesn’t exist. Death doesn’t exist. There is no difference,” he said. The sinister look that silver eye had was the only thing that kept Jack from moving. “Everything is the same. Your people fight for equality but there’s no point to it. They aren’t even alive. They aren’t dead either. Everything is different. Everything is the same.”

This guy is insane. _What the hell does any of this shit even mean?_

“Everyone was wrong,” he growled. “There is no heaven. There is no hell. No angels. No demons. Not even souls. The thing you lost didn’t even exist. What you lost was your humanity, just like everyone else.”

“Will you shut up!?”

The man fell silent. It was a chilling silence. But a silence that allowed Jack to think.

This was no dream. Somehow he passed through some sort of reality. Some reality that this crazed man created.

“They pray to a god,” the man said, he was quieter. “But no god hears their prayers. I do. They drown my thoughts. They pull me down. They plead for help for things they could have prevented. This is why God never answered them. This is why God never rewarded them. Never punished them. Because your people never learn.”

“Shut up for a moment,” Jack growled, looking back up at the man.

“I may be one man,” he said. “But I, Dr. Henry Miller, have seen everything this world can create. Every future possibility. Every end. Every death given and every life taken away. It's all the same. Life and death are the same. There is no god. There is no heaven. There is no hell. No humanity. No end and no beginning. No middle ground. No gray area. No purgatory. Nothing exists. Yet everything exists.”

“You say you can hear their prayers,” Jack said. “If no god answers them then what’s stopping you from doing it? Obviously, they’re praying to you if you’re the only one that hears them.”

“Why answer the prayers of a dying man when there is no place to put him?” Henry asked, tilting his head to the right. His silver eye boring into Jack’s. Something about it hurt his head. It was like he was reaching through his eyes and into his brain, digging around for answers. “Everyone who has died has fallen into my void. They are one with me. They are me. There is nowhere else for them to go. Because there is nowhere after death. Because there is no death.”

Then it clicked.

“You can make it all!” He shouted. “You can help people! You are the god they’re praying to! They’re praying to you! They’re asking for your help! You can make heaven, you can make hell. Demons, angels, purgatory! You can make it all! You’ve made this place, right? You made the void. If you can create a place that’s filled with nothing then I think you can create a place that’s filled with everything.”

Henry’s silver glare softened, but it was barely noticeable. “There is nothing to create,” he said. “Everything is gone.”

“What?”

“Faith no longer exists. Life. Death. Purgatory. Limbo. Realms and spaces. They don’t exist anymore.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. He keeps saying one thing, then contradicting himself. _What the hell is wrong with him? He’s gone mad!_

He looked down and at the pool of blackness at Henry’s feet. It continued to trickle down the cliff edge. The flowers around it kept wilting. The blades of grass continued to shrivel and turn brown. It was like he was spreading death.

“Dave was wrong,” Henry said. “He calls me the devil. But the devil cannot create things. They cannot make life. They cannot cause death either. The devil only causes despair. Torture. The devil does not exist.”

“Then you’re just some twisted god,” Jack growled. “An immortal creature that can’t grasp reality. An undying being that can’t stand on the planes of humanity and answer a couple of prayers for the life of him. You can change everything. You can change the course of life! But you choose not to because you’re in some infinite loop of everything-exists-slash-everything-doesn’t-exist!”

Before Jack knew it, before he heard Henry’s voice, his vision was blocked by sudden white. A colorless light. It crept into his eyes and burned his retinas. His brain felt like it was about to explode.

Suddenly the light cleared and he was staring at the ceiling of his room. Sitting up, he saw the sun shining through the curtains over his window.

“Jack!” He heard a familiar voice. He hasn’t heard this voice in… in years.

Suddenly, he felt energized. He felt like a child as his mind clicked. Connecting the dots. He sprung up from his bed and ran out of his room. He felt different. He felt… alive. He could feel the carpet against his feet. The clothes against his skin. The rush of air against his face and through his hair. His heart quickening as he bolted to the living room, seeing his older brother, Peter, on the couch watching the television.

“Your favorite show is on!” He smiled, patting the couch next to him.

_Did he do it? Did he actually do it? Peter was dead, Jack was dead, how was he here?_

Peter laughed at him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“I feel like I am one,” Jack mumbled, sitting next to his brother. “I just don’t understand.”

Peter turned serious, furrowing his brows and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What are you talking about?”

“I… you died. Dee died. Mom and Dad. Blackjack. Even me,” Jack said. “I remember it. I remember who did it.”

“I guess our prayers were answered then,” Peter smiled a genuine smile, his features lighting up. “I’ve never felt more alive!”

“I guess they were…” Jack mumbled and stood up. Something called out to him. He didn’t know what it was, though. Whatever it was that was calling for him, it was persistent and almost pulling him towards the front door.

“Be careful out there,” Peter said, staring at the tv. “Those churches are going insane today. Spewing some nonsense about God and shit.”

“So were you just a moment ago,” Jack pointed out.

Peter just shrugged.

Jack opened the front door and stepped out, almost screaming when a large man stood nearby. He was just off to the side of the door, not noticeable through any windows or peepholes. He recognized him as Henry, but the inky blackness on his right half was gone and replaced with a blinding whiteness. It still dripped off his side like some thick liquid, pooling at his feet. But as it touched dirt, plants grew in its place, small blades of grass peeking through the sparkling white goop.

“I guess I am the God they described,” Henry said, staring down at Jack. His glare wasn’t harsh, but for some reason, his tone still had an edge to it.

“No, you’re not,” Jack mumbled, staring up at the other man. His eyes hurt whenever he glanced at that white half. He much preferred a dark void over a bright one. “They describe an all-knowing, all-loving, all-giving god. You’re not that God. You take things away from people, from those who deserve it. Or just in general, I guess.”

“You convinced me to answer them,” Henry said. “I spent a moment to think about it. Maybe the world would be better off if I gave them something new.”

“Don’t fuck it up,” Jack frowned. “Give to those who deserve it, and take from those who’ve taken from others.”

“I should let you be by my side,” Henry chuckled lowly. “You seem to know more about this than I do. Maybe you can guide me.”

Jack glared at him. “Surprising how a small mortal knows more about humanity than a god.”

“I lived all my life taking for my own gain,” Henry huffed, looking away and towards the crowds of people handing out books and pamphlets. “I never once thought about the possibility of giving something. I spent half my life researching life and death to show the people immortality. The Joy of Creation. And never once thought about whether or not I was capable of actually creating something. I never thought about how much my research affected the world. Where they were going. Whether or not they deserved it.”

Jack was silent, watching Henry with a sharp gaze. Whenever he looked at his white side, static and fuzz invaded his vision. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He never thought he’d take solace in his dreadful silver eye.

“I need your help,” Henry said, his voice quiet. The dangerous hum in his chest no longer audible.

“I hate your guts,” Jack growled.

“I hate yours as well.” Henry hummed. “I hate a lot of things, but I won’t deny needing the help of someone like you. The only person I’ve seen that could resist the void’s temptation.” Henry stared at him, his gaze blank. It was like he was staring right through him, it was almost like it pained him to ask for help. “Angels and demons don’t exist, but if an angel did I would make you the first.”

_“How flattering.”_

Henry tilted his head.

“Answer this,” Jack started. “Where is Dave? What will you do with him? What have you done with him?”

Henry’s eye zipped back and forth, surveying Jack who stood like he was about to fight someone off. He knew he couldn’t take Henry on, though. Even if he wasn’t some sort of crazed god.

Jack could tell Henry was trying to hold back something. Possibly a snarky remark. “What do you care?” _And he said it anyway._

“I just want to know. Will he be punished for the actions you manipulated him into doing? Or will he be given another chance?” Jack was genuinely curious. If this crazy guy was given another chance (somehow) then Dave certainly would.

_“Of course.”_

Jack blinked. That didn’t really answer his question but he knew he wouldn’t get anything else from this guy. “Then fine,” He shifted his feet and stood tall. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you. Become your first angel or whatever the hell that means.”

Henry smiled, but Jack could only see one side of it. It was a smile that he thought wasn’t meant to be sinister, but the shadows on his face gave it those usual malicious undertones.


	3. Stop Lying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The poor kid just needed a family member that he could trust and all he did was ruin it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a really fast thing I made because I didn't want to draw it. I may return and add onto it or fix it up since it did actually have a lot more in the original document, this is just the part that worked out the best.
> 
> Sorry, it's really short.

“Don’t touch me!” Michael yelled, shaking out of his father’s grip. “How can you even look at me after what you’ve done?”

“I-I…” He was at a loss for words. _What was he talking about? Did he say something?_  His eyes were puffy and makeup was staining his cheeks, so he’s obviously been crying for a while. “Tell me what happened, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” The teenager cried, taking his hand and wiping his eyes. He only managed to smear his makeup more. “I can’t believe you would try to act so stupid! You know what you did! You know what happened!”

“M-Michael tell me what's going on.” He didn’t want to admit it but his heart was racing. He was starting to connect the dots, slowly piecing together what his son was talking about. He was scared. He was frozen in place and scared of his own son. Stopped in the middle of a road by a pair of headlights in the night. Stuck in one spot under the eyes of a vicious predator. The truth was about to bite him in the ass and he wasn't prepared for it.

“Please, you can tell me anything just let me know what’s going on.”

“Stop that,” Michael sneered, stepping back. The pain and fear in his eyes became more evident as he took his leather jacket and clutched it close to his body. He was shaking just as much as his father was. His hair was a mess and his legs pressed close together. “You know what you’re doing and you need to stop it,” he continued. “They have evidence, Father, they found them. They found everything and they know it’s you. You’re a monster!”

He didn’t have a response. This is it. 

“How can you even sleep at night?” Michael’s voice lowered as he started crying again, using his left hand to cover his mouth in hopes of stifling his sobbing. 

His father took the moment to carefully step closer, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. He pulled him in for a hug when he didn’t fight back. He cried into his shirt, smearing makeup on the fabric. He didn’t care though, most likely because it was the shirt he wore whenever he knew he was going to get dirty at some point. But also because his heart dropped thinking about how distraught Michael was. It was his fault. He worked so hard to make sure Michael was happy and comfortable but overlooked his own personal actions and how they would affect him. 

The poor kid just needed a family member that he could trust and all he did was ruin it. 

Michael’s voice was muffled in his father’s chest. “Why did you do it?” He asked. 

“I… I assure you, Michael, I-I did nothing. I can—”

Michael pulled back, staring into his father’s silver eyes. “Talk like that may have worked on Henry but it’s not gonna work on me.”

He ignored that statement and brushed the hair out of Michael’s face just so he could see both his eyes. He had his father’s eyes but they were just as fierce as his mother’s. _Does he know?_

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

_“Are you?”_ Michael asked accusingly, furrowing his brows.  



End file.
